


it comes naturally (when you're with me)

by curiouslyfic



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Anniversary, Hurt Jim, Idiots in Love, M/M, Married Life, Temporary Amnesia, anniversary curse, stuck in medical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 00:28:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2601869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiouslyfic/pseuds/curiouslyfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most people spend their anniversaries celebrating with their loved ones. Hikaru mostly spends his trying to avoid a body count and hoping this year will be different.</p><p>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</p><p>"I've put him in Quarantine 4," McCoy says through a concerned scowl.</p><p>"Awesome. The honeymoon suite."</p>
            </blockquote>





	it comes naturally (when you're with me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bauble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bauble/gifts).



Most people spend their anniversaries celebrating with loved ones or whatever. A little candlelight, maybe, dinner alone, all of leading up to some kind of anniversary sex. Easy enough, right? Hikaru’s less concerned about the dinner and the mood lighting and whatever but yeah, there's been a tragic lack of actual on-their-anniversary sex in his life.

And in the beginning, they actually _did_ make plans. Just, things didn’t quite work out. Hikaru can’t even be bitter about it, really, because it’s never anything they can control, just part and parcel of operating in space like they do, so while most of the ship’s couples have anniversaries of fancy dinners and sex, Hikaru tends to spend his avoiding a body count or kicking restless around Sick Bay.

Shit, he’d be happy to spend the night on the same _ship_ , let alone in the same room.

Most of the ship’s heard some version of the Anniversary Curse and in the way of things on the Enterprise, they take it in stride, banding together to pre-emptively ban Jim and Hikaru from most sectors of the ship for a cautious 48 hours. No Medical, no Engineering, definitely no Shuttle Bay or transporter room, nowhere that might possibly go to hell. Jim doesn’t argue about it, he mostly just grins and nods, and Hikaru lets himself be chased out of everything but the direct route between quarters and the bridge. It might be insulting if it weren’t so obviously well meant and hell, how can he argue when the whole ship seems determined to give them one good night?

Still, when Botany puts the call out because something’s gone FUBAR and Security and Medical teams get dispatched to sort things out, Hikaru doesn’t bother checking up on Jim. Instead, he swings by quarters long enough to grab his PADD and overrides the turbo lift for the trip down to Sick Bay.

He’s a realist. It’s their anniversary—it’s actually their fifth—so like hell Jim wasn’t in the middle of the botany clusterfuck.

.

McCoy winces when he sees him, which Hikaru figures is par for the course. The explanation's rough and remorseful and mercifully brief: given the special brand of crazy the Enterprise finds in any given month, a little amnesia's really no big deal. Shitty timing, but what else is new?

At least this time Jim's still on the ship, which is a step up from last year.

Of course, Jim doesn't actually _remember_ him, apparently, which sounds about right. McCoy swears and swears he's got this in hand, that Medical knows exactly what they're dealing with and that it's a case of waiting for the hypospray to kick in at this point— _”Jim's going to be fine,”_ McCoy stresses—and Hikaru mostly nods. He adds accidental sporing to his mental list of dates gone horribly wrong. Lacks the _what, seriously_ of, say, Hikaru getting temporarily abducted by the mud clan, let alone the adrenaline-soaked challenge of temporarily-feral Jim that year they'd encountered the creepy mind-twisters, but since they're at warp now and have been for days, since the whole ship's been unofficially locked down for the past 48 hours to avoid exactly this, it's still something of a mindfuck.

Hikaru hangs out in botany sometimes, has for years, and he's yet to see them let a situation get this out of hand. All the safety protocols in that lab should make it one of the safest places on the ship. Of _course_ they'd break their record with _Jim today_.

Hikaru's not even surprised.

He bumps McCoy's arm consolingly with a gentle fist, very _no harm, no foul_. "Hey, don't sweat it. Just that time of year."

Hikaru even works up something McCoy might mistake for a smile.

"I've put him in Quarantine 4," McCoy starts through a concerned scowl.

"Awesome. The honeymoon suite."

McCoy gets a little disapproval in that scowl. "You're as bad as he is," McCoy snorts. "You eat yet? Because I can lock you in. It's not ideal, I realize, but at least you'd be alone."

The offer tugs something bittersweet, stalls Hikaru's kneejerk flippant response. It's one thing to know the whole ship's conspiring to keep their captain in one piece today, something else entirely to see it up close from their friends. "Thanks."

Hikaru actually means that smile. McCoy's scowl softens to something uncomfortably Bones, which Hikaru's seen a thousand times since he joined this crew but only ever aimed at Jim.

"He'll kick himself for this later," McCoy says knowingly.

"No doubt." If Jim's stuck under medical observation with amnesia and all, they'll have to put the smoking hot anniversary sex on hold again this year. Hikaru wants to regret that but honestly, can't miss what he's never had. It's not even always Jim's fault. The third and fourth years, those had both been _him_.

"For what it's worth, Sulu, I know this year he tried."

"Always does," Hikaru says absently, half-lost remembering Jim's attempt at comm sex when Hikaru'd been stuck in the shuttlecraft. Hikaru figures that's his cue. "Hey, look, I've got this. Quarantine 4, you said?"

"You're sure?" McCoy's face draws tense. "When I say amnesia, we don't know how much he's lost. Judging by the amount of neurotoxins in his bloodstream, he's lost at least a year but until he wakes up and starts talking, there's no way to know for sure."

"Yeah, there is." Hikaru takes a half-second longer than he needs to make sure there's no bitterness in his tone. Light, he thinks, light and easy. No big thing. "Even money says he's lost me."

.

Quarantine 4’s their unofficial honeymoon suite, far enough away from the rest of Medical that they can have actual privacy if McCoy turns a blind eye, close enough that help’s but a comm click away. There’s a biobed because they’re still technically in Medical’s space but there’s a comfortable chair and a place to prop his feet up for the interminable wait and if he ignores the biofeedback terminals by the door, it’s close enough to crew quarters to work.

Of all the places to spend a night under Medical observation, Quarantine 4’s the best, and it says laughably horrible things about his life that he knows Sick Bay that well but, well, he does. Hell, after his unfortunate brush with Planet Body Swap, he’d practically moved in.

Jim’s resting comfortably, soft and asleep, one hand curled up by his mouth in a loosely curled fist, eyelashes fluttering gently against his cheeks as his eyes dart through R.E.M. The fact that McCoy’s turned off most of the room’s medical monitoring functions to leave them alone for a while says it’s not as bad as it could be, whatever Jim’s got now, but Hikaru doesn’t settle properly until he’s watched Jim sleep for a while. Biofeedback terminals aside, this could be their quarters, could be Jim sprawled out for a nap. It makes Hikaru itch to flick popcorn at Jim’s head just to watch him snort grudgingly awake.

There’s no real downside to Jim’s favorite brand of payback and hell, nine times out of ten waking Jim up means Hikaru gets laid. Figures that this time would be the rare exception to the rule.

Hikaru suppresses the low-grade urge to kiss Jim awake, make the most of that soft, luscious mouth, maybe lick Jim’s lips shiny with careful sweeps of his tongue, maybe abuse the opportunity to mess with Jim’s hair. It sticks up adorably when he sleeps on it wrong and pointing out how _cute_ the cowlicks are, _aw_ , usually gets Jim overly-invested in shutting Hikaru up.

No kissing him now, though, because amnesia, hello, and screw what McCoy says about how much time Jim’s missing, Hikaru _knows_. Anniversary Curse, baby, he’ll consider it lucky if Jim remembers Hikaru’s _name_ , let alone why Hikaru of all people would be the one locked in with him for the night.

By rights, it’s stupid superstition to think any given date’s bad luck but there’s enough anecdotal data to appease even Spock, who probably still thinks it’s fascinatingly human and illogical and whatever but who’s learned how to deal with the humans of his crew. Five years of disasters is hard to overlook, and while a case could be made that the Enterprise finds disaster like other ships find unexplored space, they are talking disasters specific to two members of the crew: they’ve been married longer than Jim’s parents at this point and they’ve yet to manage actual anniversary sex. Hikaru wonders how well Spock would assimilate that data point relative to the normal activity patterns of their sex lives.

He blows a while imagining how he’d phrase that report. Has to bite his lip to smother laughter when he finds himself plotting the bar graphs. It’s not how he’d choose to spend his night, maybe, but it’s what he’s got and relative to last year, it’s borderline fun.

He’s mucking around with an algorithm to predict maximum lube usage before McCoy calls them in for an uncomfortable conversation about being sex fiends when he notices the absence of Jim’s sleepy snuffle sounds. No sheets shifting, no shallow breaths, which drags his gaze over to Jim’s cool, distant watch.

“You’re Starfleet,” Jim says cautiously, like he needs it confirmed, and since Hikaru’s still in his uniform because Jim’s accidental sporing didn’t leave him time to change, he fights the urge to roll his eyes.

“You got it.” He slips Jim his version of Jim’s cocky smirk. “How’s your head?”

“You’re Command track.”

Okay, Hikaru knows that tone, a considered caution Hikaru thinks Jim needs to use more when he’s around the unfamiliar leadership of strange worlds. “Yeah. Medical’s busy looking after everyone else. Said you seemed okay for now, but I can call someone if you need me to.” He squints a little, searches out the tells that Jim’s in anything like pain, but all he gets is that cool, suspicious watch.

“I’m not at the Academy.”

Starfleet has an SOP for temporary amnesia among the crew, most of it rules dictating what sorts of answers caregivers are allowed to the inevitable questions they’re asked. McCoy’s made him read it, like, ten times since they left space dock that first time because seriously, chances were pretty good that he’d need to know it at some point, and what does it say about him that Jim’s not asking questions and Hikaru’s not even a little surprised.

Hikaru’s not sure how to counter the Academy thing without pointing out—potentially traumatically—how long it’s been since either one of them were cadets, but the longer it takes, the more suspicious Jim looks and okay, this is totally not how Hikaru wants to spend his night.

 _Fuck it, truth time_. “U.S.S. Enterprise, actually. You know who you are?” Those gorgeous eyes narrow. Fuck, now Hikaru’s getting hard. He has a ridiculous thing for Jim Kirk in command form—can and has dragged him into a corner for a fast, rough jerk between the transporter pad and Medical when an away mission’s gone kickass—and fuck, he’s never considered how it would feel to have all that intensity fixed on him.

If Jim makes him come in his pants, Hikaru’s never going to live it down.

“Jim Kirk,” Jim says flatly, which makes Hikaru almost sorry he hasn’t tried to call Jim Bob. “And you are?”

Of course that would be the first actual question he gets. “Hikaru Sulu.”

“Lieutenant, huh?” See, Hikaru can pretty much see Jim working that through. Jim looks down at himself, sits up carefully and takes his time before he speaks again. Hikaru should probably be gratified by the caution but it’s kind of bizarre. Jim’s one of the least cautious people he knows when it comes to himself, which is probably a huge part of why they get along as well as they do. Hikaru didn’t need to ask anyone what Jim was doing in botany when things went to hell because honestly, where else would Jim _be_ but throwing himself headlong into a bad situation to protect his crew however he could, if Hikaru’d been closer when the emergency call went out, they’d both be in here with no clue who they were, McCoy would probably be out there laughing himself sick at the sheer predictability of it all, but this _caution_ and _watching_ and…this isn’t a side of Jim he sees much unless they’re on some kind of Red Alert. Jim resolves something. Hikaru has no clue what’s going on in Jim’s head.

He’ll be honest here, it’s as unsettling as it is hot.

“So how do I know a lieutenant in the command track?” Jim asks, hunched a little and staring at his own hands.

“That’s your question? You don’t want to know what happened to you, first?”

Jim throws him a glance like Hikaru’s disappointingly slow and huh, it’s been _forever_ since he’s seen that look without the accompanying curve of a fond smile. “If you’re Starfleet and I’m in Medical, I have to assume I’ll be fine. Bones knows I’m here, right?”

It shouldn’t matter that he’d use the nickname. Jim knows he’s in Starfleet, _of course_ he knows McCoy. “Yeah, yes, of course he does.” Hikaru snorts a little to blow off his own thoughts. “Like he’d pass up a chance to hit you with a few dozen hyposprays.”

Jim relaxes a little, bleeds some of the tightness from his shoulders, some of the suspicion from his face. “So. How do I know _you_ , lieutenant?”

“Well, you’re the captain and sometimes, you let me fly the ship.”

Jim doesn’t actually gape but Hikaru figures it’s close. “Bullshit.”

“Actually, no.” Hikaru forces himself to ease back into a careless lean, as unthreatening a pose as he’s got stretched out in his chair with his feet propped up, because if he’s got Jim relaxing, he needs to encourage that shit as much as he can. “Shocking, I realize, but we have somehow convinced Starfleet to give us a ship and sometimes, if I’m very good, I get to take the helm.” Hikaru digs up his favorite of Jim’s descriptions, one he thinks he’ll remember until the day he dies. “Like living in a wet dream, huh?”

He grins congenially and everything. Jim hikes a brow. Hikaru’s always figured Jim picked that up from dealing with Spock but huh, it’s possible it came from too much time with McCoy.

“Captain? Of, ah, of the _flagship_ that hasn’t had its maiden voyage yet.” Jim checks out Quarantine 4 in a wild, sweeping scan before he turns back solemnly and says, “Is. Is this because I failed the test twice? Because I have to be honest, I’m pretty sure it’s a cheat. _No one_ ’s ever passed. That doesn’t sound strange to you?”

Hikaru waggles a finger. “Check your sleeve.”

Jim does. He makes this ridiculously attractive face, borderline bug-eyed in quickly-hidden alarm. It’s…Hikaru knows he should be worried about Jim freaking out, they’re goddamned _married_ , he should be concerned with Jim’s mental state, only this is the safest they’ve ever been together _at the same time_ when their anniversary rolls around and hell, they’re in the same room at the same time for whatever’s left of the night, McCoy’s antidote is probably already working its way through Jim’s bloodstream, Hikaru’s having serious trouble getting alpha warrior because Jim’s panicking over his _rank_. He’s always considered it an unofficial marriage vow to give each other a hard time when they can, they both love the challenge of it too much to do anything else, and hell, Jim’s going to have fun plotting payback when his memory’s back.

Jim says vaguely, “I think you should tell me what’s going on now.”

So Hikaru does. “The short version: accidental sporing, temporary memory loss, I figure you’re missing seven years, give or take, and McC— _Bones_ assures me you’ll be fine in an hour or so. Until then, you’re supposed to sleep it off in Quarantine 4.”

Jim slides his legs over the edge of his biobed—of course he does, now that he knows he’s supposed to sleep it off, of course he won’t—and settles his palms on the edge of the bed, a defensive posture shot through with frank disbelief. He watches Hikaru for a long time, those gorgeously familiar eyes taking him in like Jim needs to make a mental map. “And?”

“And I’m here to make sure you don’t escape? Spock’s got the ship until the doc clears you to return to work, so you’re pretty much off for the rest of the night?” Neither effort’s answering the question Jim has in mind, obviously, but given how much Hikaru hasn’t told him—hello, potential information overload—Hikaru’s not inclined to guess much more.

Jim tilts his head a little to square his jaw and pulls one hand up near his face, pushing at his ring with his thumb. “And when were you thinking you’d explain these?”

“Honestly? I was just going to wait it out.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t work for me.”

Hikaru’s not sure where to start with that, either, because he remembers the relentless tumble from random hook-ups as stress relief to the reckless impulse of swapping rings and he knows it all made sense at the time, everything just seemed to fit, they’d flown under the radar of Spock and the fraternization regs until they’d made it a _fait accompli_ and Jim had been with him every step of the way, practically brain twins in all the ways that count.

He just doesn’t know how well any of that will go down with this Jim, who still thinks he’s at the Academy and who only relaxed when he knew Bones was there.

“Cat got your tongue, Hikaru? I assume I at least occasionally use your first name?” Jim leans forward dangerously, predatorily calm. “We been married long?”

“Five years today, actually.” Hikaru blinks. Can’t swallow as easily as he should, but there’s a banked heat in the way Jim’s watching him that makes him uncomfortably aware that this Jim doesn’t know him at all, that Hikaru knows a dozen ways to make Jim beg breathily and curse and snarl and writhe and Jim’s only guessing that he uses Hikaru’s first name.

“Five? Really?” Jim frowns thoughtfully. It doesn’t do a thing to the intensity of his stare. “Huh. Happy anniversary, then. Did I say that yet?”

Hikaru nods on autopilot. “Yeah, you did. We, uh, we got in the habit of getting it out of the way early, you know, just in case.”

“I actually don’t know, but point taken.” Jim twists his ring like it’s uncomfortable on his hand. “You’re taking this really well.”

“I, uh, that’s how I roll. Had a lot of practice keeping cool.” Longer, too, his whole life’s been one long example of the necessity of maintaining outward calm, keeping his own mental roller coaster locked tight behind an easy-going smile. He’s not inscrutable or anything, Jim and Nyota can both read him like a damned PADD and Scotty’s almost as good when they’re talking about their ship, but Hikaru’s pretty well known on the Enterprise for his ability to keep his shit controlled.

“Right. In flight school. Because you’re my pilot,” Jim says oddly, turning his head slightly to skew a sidelong look like the change of perspective might clear things up. “And apparently you wanted me enough to blow off the fraternization regs.”

“You did,” Hikaru corrects thoughtlessly, and he doesn’t realize he’s shifted, too, moved so he’s sitting to meet Jim head-on until he finds himself drying his palms on the knees of his pants. “Told you, you’re my CO.”

“Five years ago, though?”

“Pretty much since the day we met, yeah.” It’s a good memory now, the crazy events that brought Jim Kirk into his life, that put them both in a position to live their wet dream, and the sense it calls up is soft and warm and sweet, a long-faded adrenalin rush and the satisfaction of a job well done, bittersweet for Spock’s loss but no less the best they could do with what they’d had at the time. And sure, maybe this isn’t the detail he’s supposed to share first, maybe this is a perfect time to tell Jim how they met, but he remembers the rough awe in Jim’s face when Pike had given him the news and god help him, Hikaru wants to see it again. “Your first official post with Starfleet was as captain of this ship.”

And maybe it’s not exactly the anniversary gift he thought he’d get—he’d been betting on a long night post-crisis and some very telling rug burn when he’d woken up—but the way Jim’s eyes widen, the way his mouth slacks and curves and quirks, the slow dawn of tentative joy, it’s pretty much everything Hikaru wants without a hella lot of lube and time to leave the really interesting marks.

“That’s so weird,” Jim says, almost bashful, and he ducks his head like he needs to hide how that feels, like Hikaru doesn’t know, and Jim whiteknuckles the edge of his biobed like he can’t hold on tight enough.

Hikaru’s stupid giddy, just gone on Jim’s response, the way it’s blown out the suspicion and _fuck_ , Jim’s _mouth_ , when he gets his memory back, Hikaru’s going to have to kiss him for hours, _this_ is how they ended up with rings and vows and everything, making each other feel like this while still goddamned dressed, how could they have ended up any other way, Hikaru doesn’t even know.

He snorts a laugh. “On this ship? Define ‘weird’.”

When Jim looks back up at him, he’s got that feral charm going full-force, the Jim Kirk Hikaru knows. “Me, married and captain. With, you know,” Jim starts and waves a hand at his cowlicks.

“Temporary amnesia, you mean? Because the rest of it’s true all the time, so new to you, maybe, but ship-wide, not so strange.”

Jim startles a little and bites his lip in thought. Were he back in his right mind, Hikaru would totally call him on the cocktease. He’s not sure he shouldn’t, anyway. “Okay then, the amnesia. That’s got to be odd.”

“Dude, that’s not even the weirdest thing we’ve seen this month. Though you’re going to think it’s hilarious that you thought it was.”  
.

“So should I apologize for wrecking our plans?” Jim asks, an obvious angle for sex, which Hikaru is totally down for as soon as he’s sure he won’t get contact-spored in the process—such is their luck—and to buy himself time to let McCoy’s medical magic work its thing, he decides it’s a decent time to tell Jim about why no, they don’t make anniversary plans anymore.

He’s explaining the fallout of Jim’s jailbreak that first year— _”no, no, man, we didn’t even get to your cell, you met us halfway in the hall and we did it without racking up the body count, which Spock liked, apparently you’re a diplomat savant? I don’t know, man, I like you anyway,”_ —when Jim stops him dead with a hand on his arm and says, “You did _what_ with your katana? Holy fuck,” with this quiet reverence that says Hikaru’s a heartbeat from getting _jumped_ and Jim curls a hand around the back of his neck, ducks away like he needs to process that thought and the smile Jim turns back at him is brighter than the warp coils.

.

Hikaru’s trying not to get technical with the details of how he spent four hours conning life support out of a mostly-dead shuttlecraft that third year when Jim’s grip falters. Hikaru stops talking because this close, this conversation, it’s hard not to be in tune with Jim, to remember Jim’s still technically not in his right mind, and when Hikaru does a cursory check of Jim’s face, he sees the signs of strain.

“Okay, you’re an idiot and I’m calling the doc,” Hikaru decides.

Jim blinks up at him through the start of a stubborn scowl. “Keep talking, man, don’t keep me in suspense.”

“What suspense? I’m sitting here telling you, obviously it all worked out. How bad is the headache? Never mind, I can _see_ it, it’s bad.” He ignores Jim’s kneejerk protest because the pinch at the corners of his mouth, the tension between his eyebrows both give Jim away. Jim in his right mind reads Hikaru like a PADD, sure, but that goes both ways and Jim’s masochistic streak is evidently life-long. “Say something next time, okay? We’ll get Bones in here with something to dull the pain.”

Hikaru reaches for his communicator to do just that. Jim catches his hand, holds it still. “No. No, I’m fine, I’ll be…It’s fine.” See, and Hikaru can’t resist Jim’s searching stare. Time enough to overrule him when Jim’s looked his fill. “My hour’s almost up, right? And this is good, isn’t it? Us, like this? It’s…it’s good. And if you call Bones, he’ll come in and be _himself_ and that’s not—” Jim cuts himself off abruptly but Hikaru doesn’t need to hear the rest out loud.

“Okay.”

“That’s it? Okay? I had my arguments all planned.” Jim’s slyly licked lip says exactly what those plans were.

Hikaru shrugs. “Fucked you once with cracked ribs, Jim. You want to blow off painkillers for the headache, I figure you’ll survive.”

They’ve known each other so well, so long Hikaru’s forgotten this part, Jim staring at him like Hikaru’s some kind of gift, stumbling over the fucked up, crazy way they’d clicked so fast.

“Should I ask which one of us had the cracked ribs?”

Hikaru gamely drags up a little mock hurt. “Both of us.” He murmurs conspiratorially, like the walls might have audio feed, “Had to break out of Sick Bay and everything.”

Jim whistles, light and low. “Both of us? How was it?”

“Bad. Really, really bad.” But Hikaru can’t help laughing a little at the memory he’s almost let slip away. Funny, the things he forgets, how much he’s got tangled up in _Jim_. “Hurt like a bitch if we moved wrong and McCoy had you on every sedative he could find but you know what they say about wills and ways.”

“Cracked…” Jim repeats to himself and blinks his way through that news and when he pulls himself back to the conversation, he says, “Okay, so what aren’t you awesome at?” like he’s still waiting to find Hikaru’s fatal flaw.

It’s arguably his recklessly heroic streak but Jim has one, too, and he’s not sure this Jim will get why it’s bad, he doesn’t have any memories of tense nights in Sick Bay waiting for news, so Hikaru offers up, “You won’t let me cook.”

“We have a food sythensizer, right?”

“I’m told I have tragic taste in vids.”

Jim sort of sneak-smirks a laugh. “Tragic?”

“So I’m told, yeah. And I can’t stand chess. Pointless waste of time, as far as I can tell. Plus, I won’t let you touch my sword, which I think it perfectly rational and McCoy does, too, but it makes you break out the wounded puppy eyes, so I’m assuming you think it’s a big deal.”

Jim’s quiet. Hikaru wonders if he’s working up another argument on why chess is the best game in the universe and why Hikaru is missing out, which is almost enough to make him wish they had a chess board in here so he could sacrifice his king a few times just to watch Jim go. Instead, Jim says finally, “That sword thing’s literal, right?” with a brief little leer. “Not a metaphor?”

“Uh, no, not metaphorical.” He thinks it should be clear from the stories he’s told so far how very into metaphorical swordplay they are—the thought that Jim doesn’t remember, Jim doesn’t _know_ , that’s just fucking insane—but evidently, no. “When I said we’d tried fucking with _cracked ribs_ , did you think that was a one-off?”

What he wants to ask is whether Jim can actually see himself marrying anyone for _five goddamned years_ without compatible sex drives.

“Couldn’t be sure, no. I mean, we’re still dressed and all…”

“You have amnesia, asshole. I’m not groping you, period, until you remember who I am.”

“You’re Hikaru,” Jim says simply, rolling back his shoulders to set off a classic cocky smirk. “And when you’re good enough, I sometimes let you fly my ship.”

 _Well, fuck_. Hikaru’s always been stupidly susceptible to the many moods of Jim Kirk, has found kinks for every twist of that genius brain and _God_ , he misses the classic, cocky smirk, misses the early days on the Enterprise when he’d seen it all the time, and pretty much the only thing keeping him steadfastly in his seat is the way Jim’s pinched, pained look is getting worse.

The smirk’s distracting but Hikaru’s far from blind.

The flare of lust has a short, sharp battle with the swamping affection of a standard Sick Bay wait, a memory Jim might not have just now but one Hikaru definitely does, so he passes up the promise of some really hot, no-doubt-fumbling sex for a snap-point at the bed.

“If it’s that bad, you should sleep it off, jackass.”

Jim looks like Hikaru’s passed some test. Hikaru doesn’t give. “Not sleepy.”

“Try. It’s probably only going to get worse until the last of the spores are inert.”

“Soon, right?” Jim ducks his head to pinch the bridge of his nose, his face scrunching in pain he wasn’t hiding that well anyway. Hikaru nods and hums. “And I’ll get my memory back?”

“Fuck, I hope so.” Jim looks up at him, brows knitting in concern. “Bones is on it, so it’s a safe bet. Anniversary curse, though, and I don’t know if you’ve picked up on this yet, but our luck blows.”

“So I’ve heard.” Jim gives up the pretense that he’s fine to stretch out on the bed, a curl as close to the fetal position as he ever gets. Hikaru knows exactly how to make those biobeds work for two so he knows Jim needs to shift forward a little if he doesn’t want to be alone but it doesn’t occur to him he’ll have to say so until Jim squints an invitation at him. “You’re not seriously going to make me sleep this off alone.”

“It’d be a first,” Hikaru concedes agreeably and he’s off his chair easy, across Quarantine 4 and settling in behind Jim as carefully as he can.

It should be awkward, he thinks, because Jim doesn’t remember him, really, and there’s usually some shifting trying to spoon with someone that first time, but maybe Jim takes his cues from Hikaru because damn it, they just fit, the curve of Jim’s ass snug against Hikaru’s happy dick, Jim’s spine firm and warm against Hikaru’s chest, Hikaru’s arm draping over Jim to lay a flat palm by Jim’s heart.

Hikaru settles his face into Jim’s crazy cowlicks and when Jim says, “Hey, so, story time? You were telling me about, uh, the shuttlecraft of doom, I think?” Hikaru hides a silly, secret smile the whole time he’s telling Jim about his adventures in the mostly-dead shuttlecraft and Jim’s attempts at awkward comm-sex to help him pass the time.

.

Somewhere between their abduction on Planet Bat Trees and their Incident on Planet Body Swap—which would have been a million times hotter if he hadn’t been swapped with _Spock_ , seriously—Hikaru feels Jim fall asleep.

As anniversaries go, this one’s pretty great.

.

No one in Medical’s going to interrupt them in Quarantine 4, not even to check up on Jim, because if there’s one thing Hikaru and McCoy have established with each other over the years, it’s that Hikaru will absolutely overrule Jim’s aversion to medical intervention if he thinks it’s required, and after this long on the Enterprise, Hikaru has pretty good instincts about this shit. So Hikaru doesn’t worry about warding off curious nurses who might, like, wake Jim up. Spock’s got the ship covered, so it’s in excellent hands, and there’s nothing either of them need to worry about outside this room.

Jim sleeps for a few hours. Hikaru spends them looking back.

It’s been too long since he’s put any real time into thinking about the life he’s made for himself out here, all the ways he’s changed and all the things he’s found on this ship. It’s bittersweet, amazing, to do it with Jim safe in his arms.

He knows he’s getting sappy, uncharacteristically so, when he starts thinking he owes whoever fucked up in botany his thanks.

.

He’s drifting off himself, cheek settled into the notch of Jim’s neck, fingers curled lazy possession into Jim’s shirt, when Jim shifts himself awake. He squirms his ass back in a gloriously familiar roll of his hips and nudges his shoulder against Hikaru’s face. As wake-ups go, it’s pretty good. Not a blow job or, fuck, Jim pre-slicked and settling down on Hikaru until he’s balls deep, but like Jim says sometimes, it’s better than a kick in the ass, so yeah, pretty good.

“Hey,” Jim says, his voice sleepy rough. “I miss all the fun?”

“Yep. The tentacles have been gone for hours.”

Fuck, he will never get over the dawn of Jim’s private smile, the way it lights up his whole face. “Damn it. You got vid, though, right?”

“Already up on the ship-wide server, yeah. I hear you’ve got a fan club starting on Deck 6. Really impressive work.”

“What can I say? I had great help.” Jim turns quick, rolls himself so he’s chest-to-chest with Hikaru, so he can easily thread his fingers into Hikaru’s short hair. He looks thoughtful and patient, which is pretty rare, but he’s hot and hard and so close, Hikaru’s cool to wait. “We hit midnight yet?”

Hikaru’s in no position to check the time but if Jim’s better, he can guess. “You care?” Jim’s smile dims a little. “Because I don’t. You know who I am?”

Jim studies his face, takes him in like Jim needs something confirmed. “Yeah. You’re Hikaru. And when you’re good enough, I let you fly my ship.”

The way Jim’s mouth curves melts what little resistance Hikaru’s still got. “Jackass,” he murmurs, heatless and fond, and he uses his shoulders as leverage to roll Jim underneath him through a long, sweet kiss. The way Jim just lets him, goes boneless and pliant until Hikaru’s got them arranged, is almost as hot as the way Jim sighs, the way his hands cup the back of Hikaru’s head in a soft, careful touch.

It heats up fast, always does with them, and it’s not long before they’re trying to get their clothes off without losing contact or falling off the biobed. Wouldn’t be the first time but tonight, they’d probably concuss themselves, Hikaru thinks, and it’s total brain twins when Jim meets his eyes to laugh. Usually Sick Bay sex is a no-fly zone on account of Hikaru’s healthy fear of McCoy’s rage and Jim’s healthy fear of Bones’s inevitable hypospray revenge but tonight, they’ve basically got the green light and Hikaru has the sneaking suspicion if he pokes around a little, he’ll find a stash of lube, but letting go of Jim that long is worlds of no. Besides, they somehow turn the struggle to disrobe into an accidental- _ohfuckmore_ frot and yeah, okay, that works.

He wants to suck his way down Jim’s neck, take advantage of the stubble scratches and the chance to hear Jim make all those small, familiar sounds, but when they stop kissing themselves stupid, they sort of get lost in a long, hot stare, Jim’s eyes wide and bright and focused as he rubs up on Hikaru with all the little winds and wiggles guaranteed to get them both off fast.

They aren’t going to last long enough for naked, let alone lube, but it feels like forever in that stare, like a reflection of all those _years_ , and Hikaru’s so busy trying to catalogue it and trying to make Jim feel good that the hot rush of pleasure catches him by surprise. Jim’s right behind him, tugging him down for a sweet, sloppy kiss, and for a long time, they just stay tangled up in each other, breathing hard and coming down.

It’s the kind of moment that doesn’t even need words, which is good because they both suck at that part, so Hikaru’s surprised to hear Jim speak. “Fuck. It’s after 1.”

It takes Hikaru a little longer than it should to figure out Jim’s found a clock. “We on some kind of timeline I don’t know about?”

Fuck whatever Jim thinks they should be doing, Hikaru’s not going to move. Best almost-anniversary sex he’s had, hands-down, the hell he’s giving it up this fast.

Jim snorts a little. “Yeah, I was. Just, they swore it’d wear off in an hour.”

Jim sounds disappointed, which Hikaru gets, but he sounds disappointed in himself, an edge of remorse that has no business in their damned afterglow. Hikaru cracks an eye open to peek at Jim’s face and _oh_ , okay, that’s the sheepish half-smile of a Kirk plan gone wrong. “This is where I hope you’re going to tell me you remember what Medical told you when you were _accidentally_ spored,” Hikaru says carefully, so each word is clear.

Jim’s expression twists, another variation on the Kirk plan gone wrong. “Hope away. Don’t let me stop you.”

“Jim.”

Hikaru’s a total sucker, though, because he’s actually amused by the way Jim backtracks. “In my defense, it wasn’t my idea. Well, not _solely_ my idea. And they seemed pretty sure it would work.”

“Yeah, that’s it. Drag it out.” Hikaru pulls himself up enough to trap Jim beneath him, Hikaru’s palms braced on the biobed, probably fucking with the biofeedback results again. “Historically, that works so well.”

Jim looks cagey. It does wicked things to his smile. “Look, every year we say we’ll be careful so we get to spend it right and every year, all hell breaks loose. I mean, abductions, jailbreaks, _dead shuttlecraft_ on a _milk run_ , ringing any bells?” Hikaru doesn’t even have to force his slitty stare. Jim coughs a little, flinches a bit, but he soldiers on with an explanation that at this point, stands a reasonable chance of getting him consigned to the metaphorical couch. “Right. Well, see, the botanists were explaining about forest fires and how sometimes, you have to set one on purpose so it doesn’t get out of hand and, I mean, the spor—the _details_ were all up to them, I just showed up when they called.”

Hikaru weeds through that twice so he’s sure. “You spored yourself on purpose because the botanists told you about controlled burn?”

“Yeah.”

Hikaru should be pissed off. He _should_. Just, in the hallmark of most Kirk plans gone wrong, he’s still a little lost. “Okay, why?”

“Beat the odds?” Jim shrugs. “As anniversary crises go, it wasn’t too bad, right? A little awkward, maybe, but we’ve been through worse. And hey, this way, we get to spend it alone in lock-up in good ol’ Quarantine 4 so really, is there a down side? Because I’m not seeing one.” Jim tips his head for a cock-eyed plea. “Overkill?”

“A little.” God help him, that’s actually making sense. Hikaru peers up blindly at the room, murmurs, “Honeymoon suite,” to himself, and has to shake his head. “You let botany spore you.”

“Yeah. They said I’d be all better by midnight, though. Actually, Ensign Calder said it wouldn’t be more than an hour.”

“Mm hmm, you’ll have to work on that for next year,” Hikaru says, still hung up on Jim’s point. “You _let_ botany _spore you_.”

“Yeah, of course I did.” Then Jim seems to get it, why Hikaru sounds so off, because Jim’s kissing him again, fast and hard and tangled up in clumsy, frantic speech. “Of course I did, _of course_ , why wouldn’t I at least _try_? Five years, Hikaru, we were overdue for a workaround.”

“I. You need to fuck me. Now.” Quarters are a long way away and he’s probably…their clothes are definitely going to give them away to anyone who looks but damn it, he needs to be on their bed with Jim all over him, like, _now_ , needs to know they’ve got hours alone with each other and everything they need.

Jim keeps pulling Hikaru back down when Hikaru tries to get up so Hikaru has to hiss “ _Quarters, asshole_ ,” at him all needy and low and Jim shakes his head, laughing “No, no, here.”

“We’re going to fall off this bed,” Hikaru says, visions of broken bones and a hilariously awkward run-in with McCoy, because he has absolute faith they can hurt themselves all kinds of ways even in the relative safety of Quarantine 4.

“We’re going to get mugged in the hall or stuck in a Turbo Lift or, like, snatched by a stray transporter beam or something,” Jim counters, reasonable and cracked, and Hikaru’s practically snickering himself helpless when he nods and gives in and the last thing Jim lets him say in a while is, “Yeah, okay, but you’re explaining to McCoy.”

And when the door panel shorts out and Security shows up, phasers drawn to find the saboteur, it’s all either of them can do to find pants.

~f~


End file.
